


triquetra

by Petro



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Mystery, Soul Bond, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petro/pseuds/Petro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If they get separated, it hurts them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	triquetra

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Трикветра](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389598) by [Ampaseh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ampaseh/pseuds/Ampaseh). 



> [Triquetra](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/65/Triquetra-Vesica.svg/220px-Triquetra-Vesica.svg.png) \- "trefoil", a Celtic (Varangian) symbol that can be both simple and complicated, intricate. Triquetra inside a circle accentuates unity.

It happens during the international break.

The lads join their national teams, but Daniel doesn’t. At first he thinks about spending a short vacation on the seaside, but on his first well-earned day off he wakes up in such a horrible mood that he cancels the trip. Then it starts getting worse: he catches an autumn cold and his ankle starts to ache again or maybe he’s just too used to listening to his body. As regular trainings resume, he’s completely worn-out and only wants to go to the club medical center straight away. To his own surprise, he wakes up feeling completely rested and smiles to the sunlight that floods into the room. He’s happy about a lovely day outside and changes in himself and even Martin, who’s the first one Daniel meets at Melwood. Probably that’s why he greets him with inappropriate words.  
  
“I felt so bad without you,” he blurts out.

For some reason Martin doesn’t look confused, he doesn’t grunt in surprise, only looks at Daniel in response like a six-years-old at a toy railway.

At that moment Daniel realizes that something’s wrong.

 

***

 

“We should check it up,” Daniel insists excitedly, though his inner voice keeps telling him, that there is nothing to prove, everything is as clear as it possibly can be. At Melwood he feels better than at home and their awkward jokes about soul-bonding stop being just jokes at all, when the next day after Sunday, which Daniel spent with his friends in Colwyn Bay (the worst barbecue ever, Daniel vomited all day long and the smell of steaks will sicken him for a rather long time) Martin comes up to him and says aloud what has been in the air.

They need to keep side by side. For some damn strange reason they have to stay close to each other.

Daniel knows that it’s true, but it’s him who gets into the driving seat and drives away from his house, moving away from the city, from Martin, from their fixed idea that smacks of madness.

The first half an hour he feels nothing. Then he opens a window and turns off the radio, but an invisible ring around his head continues to squeeze and there’s less and less air around.

“It’s because I’m pulling,” he thinks. “I need to tear it.”

Daniel stubbornly clenches his teeth, steps on the gas and drives so fast as if his life depends on it. The sound of incoming message brings him round and he realizes that he can’t control his hands, he’s covered with sticky sweat of weakness at every pore, the lines of the landscape behind the window blur and the car has been reeling on the road for God knows how long and only miraculously hasn’t driven down to a ditch.

There are three words in the message instead of two: “TURN A ROUND”, and Daniel, slackening the speed, with a sudden clarity imagines (sees) Martin sit, swaying back and forth, repeating: turn around, turn around, that’s enough, please, turn around, goddammit.

The tires scream when Daniel crosses the double white lines.

 

***

 

Of course there’s nothing pleasant or funny about dental abscess, but Martin looks really hilarious with a swollen cheek, so Daniel makes fun of him with other lads. They usually don’t insult each other like that — on the contrary, it's a way to cheer each other up, but Martin sits on the bench looking so sad and not even trying to smile with a corner of his lips, that Daniel feels ashamed.  
  
“Hurts much, huh?” Daniel comes closer, taps on Martin’s shoulder and gets an answer right before Martin looks up.

It’s strange but somehow pleasant — to feel somebody else’s pain while not perceiving it, to feel it going through you and floating into the ground.

“Better, isn’t it?” Daniel asks, gets an approving nod and hesitates just for a moment before covering Martin’s swollen, round cheek with the other hand. “What about now?”  
  
“Same,” Martin answers.  
  
“Good,” Daniel says, yet doesn’t remove his hand.

 

***

 

He refuses to accept help and tells the physicians “myself, I can do it myself!”, clutching at the hope that if he’s able to walk, then it’s not a fracture.

Stepping on the leg hurts, it hurts so bad that there are white flashes dancing before his eyes, but there’s enough anger in Daniel, a full tank of it, he can make it to the couch. Martin catches up with him in the tunnel and all emotions fade away at once, hurt and fear disappear last of all, and Daniel goes limp in his hands, ready to burst in tears of relief. Martin awkwardly moves him to the wall, whether leaning him against it or covering him, hiding with his own body. They stand in an embrace, pressing their chests together. Daniel locks his hands behind Martin’s neck, Martin holds him around the waist and they probably look ridiculous right now: two men frozen in a dance in the tunnel of Anfield.  
  
“Aren’t you afraid that we'll be laughed at?” Daniel murmurs.  
  
“Nobody will laugh,” Martin answers grumpily without even looking around.

 

***

 

“We must remove them,” Daniel says, catches Martin’s puzzled glance and explains: “Tattoos. Everything was fine until we made them. Have you got any other theories? I don't.”

Martin continues staring at him with this look of his, in which inanity and superiority combine as if he’s too dumb to understand Daniel or too busy to even try. Honestly, the desire to punch him is enormous in such moments.

“Our matching tattoos,” Daniel explains, not without irritation. “Have you already forgotten? You chose that triquetra yourself. Listen, I know it sounds insane, but something has to be done, it can’t be like this. We’ll probably have to go to the loo together one day.”  
  
“I’m not going to join you in the loo,” Martin answers. “I can cope with it myself.”  
  
“Just for now,” Daniel assures.

He explains that soon it can become visible on the pitch, that they managed to handle it during away games, but what will they do in summer? He only holds back the fact, that the entire last week, while he was banishing his morning apathy with a cup of coffee, he felt completely down and wanted only one thing – Martin, gloomy and sleepy, coming out from the next room. He wanted Martin to be close.

Finally he convinces Martin and they go to the tattoo-studio together to undergo the first procedure. The skin under the bandage itches and burns after the laser, not that it hurts, but it still seems logical to stay together. There’s enough place on the couch for both of them. Martin wants to go to his bedroom but falls asleep just like that, keeping his palm under Daniel’s armpit closer to the shoulder-blade, where the Celtic seal is fading.

Carefully, trying not to wake Martin up, Daniel gets a bit closer and inhales his breath. It's thick and sweetish like milk. Daniel likes it. When their unbidden bound finally disappears, he’s probably going to miss it. Sometimes.

In the morning they remove their bandages to apply some burn ointment.  
  
The ink seems even brighter than before.

 

***

“Maybe we’re destined for each other,” Daniel says thoughtlessly and chuckles. “Sounds like something from Selena Gomez’ songs.”  
  
“Selena Who-mez?” Martin asks.

They are lying on the grass near the goalpost, the ground under them has warmed up by the evening. Spring is just about to give place to summer.

“We should use it somehow,” Daniel continues. “I mean, for our own hand. Maybe we should go further, do some book research, find something else. What if it can develop into telepathy? Maybe I’ll start to understand Slovak. Or you will finally understand English.”  
  
“Go to hell,” Martin grins.  
  
“I mean it, we should try, maybe we can learn to transmit our thoughts over distance or even move objects. We've already done it once. There must be some rituals, though it’s so crazy, it still seems to me, that both of us just went crazy. Simultaneously.”  
  
“I believe in miracles.”  
  
“And I don’t,” Daniel lies for some reason. Martin lazily turns his head and looks inquisitively at Daniel — no, not even like that, there’s something in his look, something warm that strangely makes Daniel shiver at the same time.  
  
“I’m glad that it’s you and not somebody else,” Martin says and turns away.  
  
“I’m going to answer you mentally,” Daniel warns him. “Try to hear it.”  
  
“Bastard.”

He still got one of the three words right, so they can make it — at least, partly.


End file.
